


Conditioning

by Clockwork



Series: Training the Pet [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blackmail, Bribery, Coercion, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, M/M, dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockwork/pseuds/Clockwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Further education of Sherlock by Jim to ensure that he is a drug addled sex toy. Now the final conditioning begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conditioning

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: this work contains drug use, dub con, and blackmail for sexual activities. This is a very not nice Jim training Sherlock to be a sex slave in exchange for heroin. Do not read if you're offended by such things.

The games Jim played with the good doctor, as well as his continued work with Sherlock, were not about sexual desire, a need for pleasure, or even a desire to truly humiliate the consulting detective. No, Jim’s goal in all of this was so much simpler and yet infinitely more fulfilling. It was all about amusement.

At least that’s what he told himself as he toyed with the remote that would start the video feed in Sherlock’s room once more. Carefully edited, and with even the color enhanced, the video was designed less to be watched, as Sherlock could easily close his eyes, but for the audio track. It hadn’t taken much enhancing to make it just right, and in truth Jim hadn’t wanted to add sounds of pleasure of anyone else. He had merely lowered his own voice, enhanced the throbbing sound of the doctor’s voice.

And then to twist the knob a bit more in Sherlock’s training, he had spliced in John saying small things. Sherlock’s name. Common phrases. Things that Sherlock would hear on a daily basis once Jim returned him to his companion. For four days now, he had started the feed up shortly after the morning routine of cleaning and a small bit of broth with a tiny dose; just enough to keep him manageable but not enough to let him slip into the lucid nothingness that he likely sought. At least that is what Moriarty assumed he wanted, though he hadn’t spent enough time with Holmes to find out. They both needed distance, though for entirely different reasons.

For Moriarty with Holmes it was needed to accelerate the process of his transformation. Jim had every intention of keeping his word to Watson, and that left him with little more than two weeks to finish training his pet. It was for that reason he had removed from his daily schedule the morning dose of heroin. If the nightly dose had been halved, and then cut with something innocuous, then it was truly and wholly for his own benefit.

Now though, as the video started once more with it’s soft sounds of pleasure and grunts manipulated to sound much more welcoming than they had been at the time, Jim could only imagine just how eager his guest was. No instructions had been given, and while Moriarty knew that Holmes needed constant watching after the attempt at taking his own life, Jim hadn’t set himself to the task. Not when a certain someone had noticed just how attached the criminal mastermind had become to his toy. Which was why that same someone had been assigned to monitor day and night, without only a window of a few hours for sleep every twelve hours. Once when the nurse was there, and for a brief respite in the middle of the night while Jim himself took over to watch the troubled way Sherlock slept. 

Now though he sat and waited, attempting to work on the tedious things that consumed the life of even a man such as himself without glancing longingly at the monitor nearby that if he were to turn it on, would show him all that Sherlock was enduring, or enjoying. It was the latter that Jim waited for, though he worried it was too much, too soon. His own timetable was working against him, after all. 

His phone rang.

Answering it without a glance, bringing the slim device to his ear. “Yes?”

“He’s asking for you, Sir.”

It was the message he’s been waiting for. 

“What exactly did he say?” The question was only met with silence. “Sebastian?”

“I believe his exact words were…” Again silence for the longest moment. “Tell him I’m ready to listen but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do what he wants. Sir, you should know. He’s been watching the video.”

The news went through Jim like a shot, causing the dapper man to sit bolt upright in his leather chair. “What do you mean exactly? How is he watching it?”

“With his eyes?” Likely not the right answer, and even Moran knew that. “He started by just glancing at it, and then he started watching. Seems to be enjoying himself, if you want to know.”

“I do want to know. Has he touched himself?”

Moran had obviously learned to curb his reaction to questions like that, merely grunting in what could have been agreement or not. “No. Do you want me to tell him to?”

Sighing, Jim rose and carefully buttoned his jacket with one hand. Opening the top left desk drawer, he withdrew the leather case with it’s carefully loaded syringes. “No, thank you. I’ll see to that myself.”

Hanging up the phone, he slipped the device into his breast pocket and made his way down to Sherlock’s room. 

It looked no different than it had months earlier when his guest first started staying with him, but Jim could see the changes as if they were glaringly bright in red paint. The fresh coats of paint to cover marks made during Holmes’ mistaken attempt at his own life. The small holes drilled for wiring that was carefully taped over in white tape to blend in with the walls. Security cameras inside and out within small domes, and even the locks that were now electronically activated, making entrance and exits so much easier for those that had a reason to come and go. For Jim and Moran it was wired into a fob they carried, and so the door opened for him as Jim approached.

To many, perhaps even to the doctor himself, Holmes would be returned to them not looking quite like himself. Already thin, he was tragically gaunt now, his skin shallow and dark circles forever seeming smudged beneath his eyes. Yet those eyes were still brilliant, nearly electric blue, and the wry twist of his mouth was barely changed. Even now while he lay on dark chocolate sheets, head turned so that his gaze fell on the scene before him with little effort. Jim didn’t need to look at the video to know just what moment it was, nor did he suspect Sherlock did either though the man’s gaze never left the screen as Jim came in, closing the door carefully behind him.

“I must say, he is quite the terrier. Tenacious. Determined. And downright adorable when he finally gives himself over to what it is he wants.”

“I care little for what John wants when he’s being tortured by someone like you,” Sherlock murmured, voice so soft these days, rough around the edges and perpetually sounding as if he was both dying of thirst and drowning at the same time. “But I do care slightly more than I care about your desires. What I care about now is just what it is you expect me to take away from this spectacle, beyond a desire to make sure the doctor is armed and released into a small room with you.”

Even now, even when Jim knew the desires and hungers were eating at his skin, even now Sherlock still had that fire within that had first drawn the criminal to him. He was thankful his program hadn’t destroyed that while molding the man into the pet he wanted him to be. 

“Which brings me to all that matters. Just what is it you want, and what hoops do I need to jump through today?”

“Jump through for what,” he asked, moving his chair closer though being careful not to block Sherlock’s view, and settling onto the straight back wood chair to watch the other man. “You can’t even begin to have it if you don’t ask properly.”

“I want my dose. You want me to behave in some certain way. What do I have to do to get the dose. Watching John being humiliated by you can’t be enough or you would have come in with needle in hand to congratulate me for being a good boy,” he said, speaking with that same careful enunciation and cold distance that he always had. Perhaps to another he might seem the same, but Jim knew.

He could hear the catch in his words, see the way his eyes flickered constantly between the monitor and the man he hoped to return to and the man sitting before him who held all he needed in his figurative hands. The walls might be down but they were crumbling, and Jim knew they didn’t have to be gone. All he needed was a gap in them thick enough he might slip through as he needed, and that gap was definitely widening by the day.

“You want your dose. That isn’t asking very nicely.”

“Are you really going to treat me like a toddler?”

“Given obviously your family never taught you properly, I see no choice.”

Sherlock shifted, only then looking away from the screen. Moving to sit up carefully so that he didn’t strain the chains that held him to the bed, facing Jim so he could see the other man and finally looking away from the monitor.

“I would like my dose now, please and thank you. Would you please deign to tell me just what I must do to appease your sick and twisted mind that I can please have my dose?” He asked it in that same soft voice and yet somehow managed to make it sound like the worst insult ever spoken. 

Jim smiled though, nodding. “You may have it, yes. All I’m going to ask of you today is that you pleasure yourself.”

Watching him intently, seeing that first flicker of uncertainty in Sherlock’s eyes. “And then what?”

“Well, I do ask that you come from it. What’s the point if you don’t find pleasure in it?”

“All I have to do for my dose is masturbate?” All pretense of attitude was dropped for the sake of confusion. 

“While watching that,’ Jim said, nodding in agreement even as he gestured to the monitor. “Which is how you’ll get your dose from now on. The video is set up on a loop feed that will play constantly but for when you’re sleeping. You’re free now to have a dose any time you want it. Just so long as you masturbate first. Once you do, someone will bring you a dose.”

Rising, Jim moved to the corner by the monitor, gesturing to the small silvered dome behind which the camera was hidden.

“All your actions are watched, and we know what you’re doing. From now if you want anything, you’ll have to pleasure yourself while watching your good doctor pleasured. If you want food, a dose, even company, you will just do what has come naturally to men since they found out why they had opposing thumbs. Then, after you have, you may request what you want.”

Request, though he made sure to carefully word that as he wasn’t promising anything. Not yet. Not ever.

“And you expect me to begin now, with you here watching.” It wasn’t a question.

“Everything you do, Holmes, is watched. Why should this be any different?”

Then, to prove at least for the moment that he was a man of his word, he reached into his jacket pocket and brought out the slim leather case, laying it on the night table just out of Sherlock’s reach. 

“Shall we begin, or would you rather I come back?”

Whereas before there might have been conflict on the consulting detective’s face, that moment of hesitation wherein he took in the leather case, considered his own level of comfort and weighed them against the loathing he felt toward his captor, today there was no such moment. 

“We can begin,” he said, already moving to settling his lanky frame back against the headboard where he had full view of the monitor. “I ask you remain quiet for the duration, if your goal as you’ve shown it is that I focus on John and not these deplorable conditions. Such as the lack of lubrication for this.”

Jim wondered if it was hard maintaining that level of education in his words, all of it sounding a bit stilted and unnatural to his ears. Perhaps it was his own desire to seem the man he’d come to Moriarty as, and the haze of drugs and near starvation left him unable to see just how far gone he truly was. 

Settling back into the chair, Jim gave his guest a perplexed look, frowning heavily and cocking his head to one side. His fingers gestured to his mouth, almost pouting at the consulting detective.

“Oh for the love of all that is Holy,’ Sherlock snapped. “Speak.”

Jim smiled then. “I was only going to say that you do have spit and I suspect you’ll enjoy the added friction.”

Then, to make it clear he wasn’t going to help anymore, he made a grand gesture of drawing his fingers from one corner of his mouth to the other, making it perfectly clear his lips were sealed.

With a roll of those glassy blue eyes, Holmes barely gave a tug to the tie on his sweats, lifting his narrow hips just far enough to slide the midnight fabric down to the tops of his thighs. Despite whatever protests he may have had, the half hard length of his cock proved that the video was having the desired effect upon him. 

Yet Jim said not a word, even as Sherlock licked his palm, the rasp of near dryness over the palm of his hand loud even over the moans and softly spoken calls of Holmes’ name from his friend. CCTV was certainly a god send when one had need of surveillance and knew how to obtain what was needed.

The first touch was awkward, neither firm nor full, and Jim found himself wondering how little experience Sherlock had at such skills. Certainly as a boy he had found release in the grip of his own hand. Hadn’t ever boy of a certain age?

Jim though made sure to not even so much as move on his seat, letting Sherlock play as he might. Though play was, as always with the consulting detective, such a loose term. 

He was as clinical with this as he was everything else. A firm stroke, long fingers curled tightly now around his cock. Likely that single lick was not nearly enough but he had harsh determination to get him to that point where he could get what he wanted. Not that release of a pleasurable session, but the zoned out bliss of what Jim had in the case.

Pale eyes focused on the monitor, intense as he leaned forward slightly. Hand speeding faster along the dry skin, his free hand going down to cup at his sac. That change in grip and Jim was leaning closer, watching Holmes with the same intensity that he watched Watson on the high definition monitor. 

There wasn’t a sound as he found release, hips still against the mattress as he came. Only the scent of sex in the air thickening made Jim’s gaze drop down to Sherlock’s cock. It wasn’t that thickness on his hand though that held Jim’s attention but the fact that even as his hand still, long fingers gripping tightly at his sac, his eyes still remained on the screen, lost in thoughts, perhaps even fantasies.

He waited several moments and yet no movement from his guest. He cleared his throat softly.

“Pet, you’ll need to clean yourself up before I can give you what you want.”

Perhaps it was the request itself, though Moriarty knew it was likely his own voice that brought Sherlock out of his reverie. 

“With what do you expect me to do that? My sheets? Will the maid be back today if I do?”

“With your mouth,” he pointed out. “It is apparently very nutritious.”

Again there was no argument, no fight from Holmes. He merely lifted his hand, quick and steady licks of his tongue. That held Jim’s attention, liking the contrast of the hot pink of his tongue against pale, almost bluish in how pale it was, skin. 

No words were exchanged, only the lifting of one overgrown brow that had once so elegantly arched over Sherlock’s eye.

Rising, Jim retrieved the case from the side table and opened the top flap. Making sure that Sherlock saw the trio of needles within, he selected one and held it vertically to tap out the air bubbles. Even as he finished, Holmes had his arm out, offered for the injection.

Clinical in his touch, Jim injected the diluted heroin into the man’s arm with a deft touch. They had done it so often over the months that even with the scar tissue and the thin veins he was still skilled at giving Sherlock what he needed. 

“When you’re ready for more,” he said, recapping the needle and sliding it into the case. “Do remember to ask nicely,” he said, stepping out of the room, leaving Sherlock laying there with his soft cock nestled against springy midnight hairs and his eyes already glazing over. 

Closing the door tightly behind him, he traded out the leather case for his phone. 

 

“Sebastian, give him two hours and then turn up the volume a single click every hour. Thank you.”


End file.
